Twixt
by Flower of Carnage
Summary: Begins before the night with Lilliman. Evey and V stumble across the threshold of each other, not only unable to prevent it but unable to stop. Love could be the end of everything... Soul, take thy risk. Complete.
1. Soul, Take Thy Risk

-1'Twixt

Between one world and the next, the living and the dead, winter and summer, the difference between noonday and the moon riding high, between the hallway and the forbidden bedroom, was Evey Hammond. V watched her as she approached, tightened his gloved hands into the fabric of his trousers to keep from reaching out to her. Tightened just a little bit harder at the sigh of disheveled hair, an unevenly buttoned nightshirt, the rise and fall of her breasts as she tried to heartily breath away the nightmare that had woken her.

"Are you scared, Evey?"

She shook her head, curls bouncing against her flushed cheeks. Her bare feet padded across the threshold, hesitating before actually crossing; Evey had never been in his room before. Somehow, she knew, a part of her would never come out. She wasn't quite brave enough to venture to the bed where he sat; the mask lay in shadows, and it was even harder to read him than usual. Her mind was still foggy from sleep, from the nightmare, from the thoughts of Lilliman and his death the next day. She was torn; she did not know if she would betray this masked vagabond she had come to view as doing the same thing to her as she was to do to Lilliman: enthrall, captivate, seduce, consume. Of course, Lilliman's encounter would end in death; Evey was afraid of a different kind of death if she gave in to the lithe muscles of V's thighs, the strength of his forearm, the endless depth of eyes she could see in her mind. Evey feared the part of her that belonged to the world she grew up in would perish; boon or bane? Evey knew that with a single taste, she would be unable to leave him, a captive of far more than the Shadow Gallery.

She paused in front of his vanity, staring at the wooden stands for wigs and masks. A comb, an extra pair of gloves. Glue for various masks. She decided the seat in front of the only clean mirror in the gallery was safer than the bed; as far as she could see, the sheets were made of fire. V was an uncontrollable blaze, and she had yet to decide if she wanted to brave the heat. Part of her wished he would make the decision for her.

"Evey," his voice purred, silken from the darkness, rolling up her spine. She couldn't suppress the shiver that rocked her. Swearing inwardly, she knew he'd seen. She did not have the benefit of Guy Fawkes to cover her emotions, and in a way, she had always been naked in front of him. That thought alone had V gripping the black of his pants with his other gloved hand, as well.

"Eve," he said, voice even softer. "My dear, the night is older than I; if not fear, what keeps you awake?"

Dreams. Him. The stale, underground air. A mouse between a stack of Shakespeare and a stack of Dickenson. Desire. The promise of being burned at getting too close. The inability to resist. The thought of breakfast in the morning. The flush she couldn't keep from her cheeks. The way the sheets clung like she wanted his hands to.

"I... I couldn't sleep."

Too late; Evey had hesitated too long in her answer. She knew V could practically smell a lie anyway; perhaps it was a skittish edge inspired by her dream, but V was more a wolf tonight than he ever had been. Evey had simply replaced her red hood with a nightshirt that rode a little too high for V's comfort level.

"Too much tension at what is to come, perhaps?"

"Tension..." Evey laughed, a soft, ironic sound. "Exhilaration - is within - There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate as that diviner Brand."

"Ah," V said, standing. Like a panther, a wolf, a stalker of her dreams, he glided from the bed to the vanity chair, leaning over Evey's back and wrapping a hand delicately around her throat. Her breath hitched; how could a threatening gesture be so sensual? Her mind was at a loss for words to describe this haunting man, an almost erotic vision that blended in and out of the darkness.

Predatory. That was it.

"To stimulate a Man Who hath the Ample Rhine Within his Closet..." V's voice trailed off, leaving only the last line of Emily Dickenson's #645 left unheard. His grip tightened slightly, but not menacing; more like a leash, a clamp to hold the prey in place, lest the gazelle try to escape. Her eyes were wide in the mirror, her cheeks flushed; she was sure he could see the heat on her skin. His other hand he placed on her knee, letting it trace its own path along the top of her thigh, cup her hip, slide up her stomach and over her breasts to rest below its companion at her collar. "Exhale in offering, Evey."

Dangerous. He could feel her heart beating even through the leather, an uncontrollably fluttering promise he had not only elicited but was trying to capture. "An offering like this could kill us both, V."

He lowered the cool, alabaster surface of the mask level with her face and stared at her eyes in the mirror, the darkness of the room doing nothing to cover the drop in his voice, the sandy nature it took on, the heady knowledge that something completely masculine had just risen from him, at her unwitting hand. Perhaps, she reflected, not quite as unwilling as she wished to claim.

"Soul, take thy risk,  
With death to be  
Were better than not be with thee."

V's voice rolled over the jump in her pulse and, helpless, she turned in his arms and met the mask, met the man, with a fire of her own, deciding firmly that he could hunt her endlessly, and still he would not be the only predator in their underground world.


	2. For Beggar or For Cat

'Twixt  
2: For Beggar or for Cat

A push. Her hands on the silk of his shirt, his voice, his mask. Her hands had yet to know the silk of his skin, yet he could boast familiarity of her softness. It was unfair, she thought as he pushed her to the bed, his bed. So intimate a place, sheets so dark the sun could not extract their secrets. And what secrets they held, what stories -- never before Evey had the sheets of V's bed known lust.

The leather of his glove pushed her shirt up to her breasts, baring not just her underwear but a much more uncontrollable form of nudity: the tremble of her hips against him belied any reaction she tried to stifle. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he smoothed the mask along her stomach, pausing only to breathe in the scent of her skin. A long inhale, Guy Fawkes a smiling filter to the scent he really wanted.

A frustrated noise, almost a growl, came from V's throat. "Evey. Do you trust me?"

She blinked, almost as if trying to expel the darkness of the room from her eyes. Her entire body was uneven from the lines she had not expected to cross this night; her breath and hands shook, her abdomen flexed involuntarily in anticipation of him against her.

"Yes," she said, tipping her head back, almost a moan. There was a beast of fire stirring between both of them, and when V rose suddenly, Evey felt her breasts tighten at the lack of heat. A physical cry for him she had neither the desire to stop nor the control to. The bedroom door closed, as if asking for privacy from the rest of the gallery. Evey waited, suspended in darkness thick as water, for him to return, finally unafraid at the absence of light. But instead, there was a strike and a flare as he lit a candle, the small flame making the room flicker and dance like her skittish muscles. But there was more V held in his hand; a sash of black cloth that looked softer than anything she'd seen him wear. When he approached, he pushed it onto the skin of her stomach, rolled it across her. Her throat tightened.

"Chinese silk, Evey," he said, voice slightly hoarse. "Believe in me to be your eyes."

And then the candlelight was gone as V wrapped the strip of fabric across her eyes, pulling it tight enough that command was established and yet gently enough that she could appreciate the finery of Chinese craftsmanship. His hands moved to her hips in a harsh and unyielding grip, suddenly, violently, the creak of leather pulling her skin into obedience. He hooked a thumb into each side of her underwear and effortlessly it was gone, leaving Evey gasping; she found herself rendered helpless not so much by the blindfold but by the presence she could feel, almost see, even without the aid of her eyes.

"Lilliman will want to rape and maim you without your trust, Evey. He will not ask permission as I have."

Again, his hands were on her, bruising on her hips. She found herself wishing there to be handprints in the morning, a different kind of brand and mark of possession from this madman. Madness -- that's what this was, a downward spiral of chaos that tasted of the most heavenly spices. With V, Evey forgot what it was to resist.

Suddenly the touch was gentle, light. "Sweetest Eve. I won't let him harm you. _It is not fit for table for beggar or for cat._ You will not be that monster's... _feast,_" the last word was spoken as a snarl. "I will have him know that you are mine, and I will break him for his attempt."

"V!" Evey gasped when she felt his lips, his real lips, hot and searing on her right hip. She felt the touch of his tongue, softer than the silk that kept her sightless, as he sucked her skin. This time she could not deny the willingness of her hand to rise to the back of his head and push him closer; she would not try to feel the marks of his triumph over fire yet. Her hips bucked to meet his teeth as he marked her, branding a vibrant rose on the curve of her hips. Almost reluctantly, he pulled away, kissing her thigh reverently as he pulled her nightshirt back to its proper place at her knees. His breathing was noticeably ragged, as was hers. Together, they pulled in the night air and fed off it, fed off the scents of each other and the taste of the heat they knew simmered under the skin.

"_Who goes to dine must take his feast  
or find the banquet mean -  
The table is not laid without  
till it is laid within," _ Evey recited.

"You are quite fond of Emily tonight," V said, standing and trying to compose himself before he released her from her blindness. "But I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Finish what you started, V." Evey knew better than to believe he didn't understand. She heard a clink as the mask was lifted from the vanity, a rustle as its ties were redone. A swift exhale as the candle was blown out, and a sigh as her own blindfold was lifted. She blinked as if exposed to the sun, as if she had never seen the world before; the room, however, was too dark to even see his mask.

He rested beside her on the bed, where she remained dazed. He too was in a mood for Emily, it seemed.

_"A wind that woke a lone delight  
like Separation's Swell -  
Restored in Arctic confidence  
to the invisible."_

"What does that mean?" Evey's voice was thick within the richness of the darkness, a blend of textures V wished he had the pleasure of tasting.

"It means soon, Evey. Very soon."


	3. Unknown to Possibility

'Twixt  
3: Unknown to Possibility

He had to be sure. There was no blade that could cut as deeply as hers, but no mind that could see her so starkly as his. It was as if she were naked, all the time; when she walked in the kitchen he did not just imagine her thighs, or her hips, or his mark on her. He imagined the craving she had when she sought food, the contemplation of the last novel she had read. He tried to predict what she would desire for dinner based upon her behavior in the morning, all but stalked her mood to see if he should read her to sleep.

This morning, however, her nerves were so high strung he envisioned them glowing through her skin, trails and paths he would trace with his eyes. She was afraid of Lilliman, but that wasn't it, he knew -- she did not yet know if she should leave him. She paced, her feet worrying against the floors all through breakfast, up until the time for dressing was upon her. He took no delight in dressing her as a child to be preyed upon, and knew she would take even less; ideally, he would get there fast enough and her skills as an actress would not be needed. But if Evey -- his Evey -- betrayed him, he would possess her without permission. He would show her how he became consumed by madness, and what madness really was. V would share everything, and then she would finally understand. He knew her freedom would keep her with him forever; what he wondered was if her love was strong enough to do it first.

She was on the couch, curled into the corner and staring at the wall. She was using her curls to hide behind, using them as a mask much like his. She never dreamed she would envy a facade, but today she saw the protection they came with. Hiding -- she always hid. A split second decision, and she knew what she had to do. She stood and met V before he could approach her fully.

"It's time," she said.

He nodded. "Are you afraid, Evey?"

She blinked at the echo of his words from the night before and shook her head slowly, surely. How could she fear Lilliman when she was branded on one hip by a man far more dangerous, a man destroying her, ravaging her, and saving her all at once. "_The blood is more showy than the breath but cannot dance as well._ I know that everything tonight will happen as it should. No coincidences, right?"

Leather pushing on her cheek, into her hair, making a gentle fist and tugging her head back to meet his hidden eyes. She closed her eyes. "Indeed," he murmured, lowering his mask to her throat and letting it hover, inhaling the raw smell of her skin, the aftertaste of her fear. Who was she afraid of, him or Lilliman? V knew that he might never have a chance to drink her in, to swallow these moment with her, as he did now. She might not return home with him.

Suddenly, the fire of him she craved was gone. Her eyes snapped open; he was already walking into a deeper room within the gallery. "Come," he called. "The actress needs her mask."

A pink atrocity, lying on his bed. A place that just the night before had been filled with such demand and possession now held a fetish for another man. For the first time since Evey had arrived, she felt _wrong_; she should be dressing for V, those should be her clothes torn apart at his hands, not an outfit for a pedophile. She winced.

"I know this is not to your -- taste," V began delicately. "And you have my apologies. But Lilliman's preferences are for those much younger and you, and the need for you to appear as a child is great. I hope that --"

"V," she interrupted. "I need to be alone to change."

A pause. Her voice was grim, determined, and he did not like the sound of it. Admittedly, he feared and dreaded her betrayal as much as he relished the thought of setting her free. The end would have to justify the means; he knew he could liberate her much more kindly than his captives had. He sighed.

"_There comes a warning like a spy  
A shorter breath of day  
A stealing that is not stealth  
Allures his jaded eye._

Evey," he continued. "I do not want you to do this."

"_What I can do, I will; though it be little as a daffodil. That I cannot must be unknown to possibility,"_ she countered, staring at him with unusually hard eyes. The mask dipped, perhaps in acceptance or perhaps in patience. With no other word, he retreated and closed his bedroom door behind him, leaving Evey alone with a mask of ecstasy for Lilliman. Her gaze wandered to his vanity, her mind to the blaze of the night before. She touched her hip. The mask she really wanted would not be easily won.

She pulled the skirt over his mark, the flowered shirt over her breasts. She imagined the clothes were black leather, hands, the heavy weight of his eyes pushing her skin into the bed. Each stocking was a caress, a taunt, a spike in heartbeat. The pigtails were for him, something cute she could wear to breakfast. The only thing she couldn't tick off as being for V in her mind was the make up; he always preferred her skin unadorned, wearing only her emotion and her scent. Everything else, though; if she closed her eyes she could imagine it was the gaze of Guy Fawkes that rolled inside her thighs, that ate her as a feast from the doorway.

No. V had said he would not let her be a feast for Lilliman. She would be safe, marked.

"V," she called. "I'm ready."

His gaze did not wander that she could see when he approached her. He could only meet her eyes, amber irises begging for a reaction. He yielded nothing. Not a touch, or word, or a violent grip on her hips. Her face pleaded with him. Tentatively, she stepped forward, looking into the mask as the very presence of her skin seemed to push on his chest. Together, they were ecstasy made flesh, an ecstasy that trembled too strongly to chance a taste. Unknown herbs could be poison.

"V?"

A pause, a holding of breath. He was calculating. Careful. "I have nothing to say, Evey. We should go soon."

Breaking the carefully constructed distance, she shoved herself against him. Her breasts hardened upon impact, his fists flexed brutally at his sides. "That's it?" she demanded, suddenly unrelenting. "Are you so afraid of what I'll do that you would give up all hopes of keeping me?"

Neither predator in the room was speaking of Lilliman any longer. They were speaking of Evey, of leaving, of loss.

"Is one mark your best shot? A tiny place that fades?" she demanded, throwing the words at him with all the tension of a bonfire. Her volley continued. "You have to hide behind a girl you've barely held to capture a sinful priest, to send him to the God you believe in more than he? V, what kind of coward --"

Sharp. Violent. Her words were cut off as he lifted her, picking her a foot off the ground and slamming her into the wall, pinning her there by placing himself between her legs. She gasped, and struggled, feeding off the air that was as much sex as it was battle. The mask's lips pushed into her neck, and he breathed in her terrified gasps, her thoroughly seduced pants that held echoes of his name.

"You are mine," he said, words low and dangerous, a panther's purr in the back of the throat. "Should he touch you, I will kill him slowly. Should you run, I will find you. Should the tide ebb, I will mark you a thousand times where no one will see; I will scar you inside, Evey."

He pushed a soft wisp of silk into her hand; it was the blindfold. He shifted his weight, pushed her more firmly into the wall. She couldn't get the cadence of her breathing to stabilize.

"Take this with you. Close your eyes to everything but instinct. I will come for you, Evey. I will show you the way home."


	4. Foreign World

'Twixt  
4: Foreign World

_These strangers, in a foreign world,  
protection asked of me -  
Befriend them, lest yourself in heaven  
be found a refugee._

The door shattered, splintering like his nerves. He didn't know, nothing, but he had to; like a rabid animal, snarling his way into the fight to discover if his mate had been unfaithful. He had to know if she had chosen Lilliman, and freedom; no... "freedom." If she had left him for that, he would educate her.

What he found was worse. She was screaming, a raw sound tearing from her throat, so different from the sounds she made for him. Lilliman had his hand between her legs, his shoulders holding her knees apart. She struggled against the bed and delivered a swift kick to the priest's groin; Lilliman, however, was not to be deterred until the sound of the door breaking announced V's presence. Evey's eyes all but glowed with relief. She stood as fast as she could, straightening her skirt. The lacy thong that was part of the ensemble was already across the room, ripped. V's vision went red, a burning heat directed at Lilliman in protection for his Evey.

"She wasn't lying!"

V's head snapped to Evey, staring. There was no apology in her eyes; instead, she stalked forward and pushed herself against V, leaving no room for imagination. All he could feel was the heaving of her chest, the fearful pulse of her heart. She pulled a knife from one of its sheaths and stared the empty eyes of the mask down.

"Next time, don't wait for me to prove I'm staying." The words were a hot whisper, a chastisement of the time it took him to scale the roof, to let his fear and hesitation take over. She knew how thick the night had felt to him.

Evey took the raw blade and stalked behind the quivering Lilliman, her hips moving like a great cat. She was no longer the sniffling girl she was to portray; instead, her beast and V's fed off one another to create a hunter. She knelt behind the bishop, one hand caressing his shoulder as the other held the knife at his throat; she tipped his head back, the blade pushing enough to draw a bit of blood.

"His Grace is waiting, V."

He approached, panther to her leopard, and covered her hand with his, removing the knife from her grasp but keeping Lilliman at point. Swiftly, with nimble yet shaking fingers, she tied the strip of Chinese silk around his wrist. Her eyes shot into his as she stood, touching her hip directly in front of his eyes. She walked beyond him as if she were riding the night, riding his gaze all the way to the splintered door.

"Be quick. I won't wait up."

She was gone.

Filler chapter alert! The next will be far longer; I just wanted to get Lilliman out of the way.

Well, I think its about time I said hello. resists the urge to say "Good evening, London." V lovin' to all who reviewed; much thanks! Author's notes will be few and far between with me; I like leaving the story by itself. That being said, there are a couple bits I'd like to throw out: all of the quotes so far and to come are from Emily Dickenson. I have a large book of her poems I'm quite fond of, and she's got so many you can apply them all over the place. I know its not really realistic that our dynamic duo quote her _all the time_, but stick with me, please. :) Second, this won't follow the movie. Most of us have seen it at least three times -- I've seen it six -- and I have no desire to write what was so beautifully done. Thusly, this fic is hurtled into the AU category. Lastly, I have doubts I'll reply to specific reviews; I'm pretty lazy. But I do read all of them (multiple times sweatdrop ;;) so feel free to get specific about whatever. Until next time, vagabonds. Ciao.


	5. Heat

'Twixt  
5: Heat

He had to get that monster's scent off of her. Everywhere along her body, he could smell the hands that had touched her, hurt her, spiked her with violence. His Evey. His woman. He had already broken Lilliman, slowly. As he returned to the Shadow Gallery, his only thought was of cleansing her in the same fire that had set him free; he would give her a much different type of scar, however. A brand across her mind -- she would see no one beyond him.

He tore into his home, the air stilled from lack of motion. Evey had already gone to bed, he was sure; he didn't bother going to her room to check. He knew she wouldn't be there.

He dropped the ebony fedora and cape on the threshold, carrying only his second skin with him across to his bedroom. A single candle burned, and she slept dressed in one of his shirts. It rode past her hip, and the bite mark he'd left glowed like one of his scarlet carsons in rain; in her sleep, he tied the blindfold across her closed eyes. And then he was upon her.

"V!" she woke to the night with a gasp as his hands roved her skin, her eyes blinking into the inky black of the blindfold. In a panic, she reached for it, but leather stopped her; as if by instinct, she stilled. She gripped his hand in her own, forcing her other to still from reaching to him lest the mask lay on the vanity. Its rightful place, she thought ruefully.

"Are you alright?"

An intake of breath. Exhale. Creak of leather; was he making a fist?

"Evey," he said, husky silk that traveled like fur across her. "I deeply apologize. I hesitated."

"No, please. I'm fine. He didn't wound you, did he?"

Suddenly, like a match on a pool of gasoline, she was thrown backwards into the pillows. His face drew very close to her ear, and she could feel his breathing; so, the mask lay discarded somewhere. "I'm ashamed you could think him capable," he growled low in his throat, letting the possession he'd felt at the sight of Lilliman's hands on her come through.

His warmth withdrew, and there was another rustle, followed by two smacks. Were those his gloves hitting the floor? Hands, not made of leather, gripped her wrists and raised them to the headboard, thumbs pushing into the veins at her joints. They pushed, pulsed with her heart as if they were feeding off of how quickly she was breathing, how fast her blood was flowing.

"Can you feel it, Evey? His scent on you?"

"I feel..." a pause, a hitch in her breath as he brandished another strip of silk and laced her hands together, then to the bed.

"You feel," he began, finishing the knot, "what?" Tightened. Strong, like his lithe body. She could move her hands, couldn't move at all for want of the pressure of him. She wasn't even sure if he were actually on top of her, or if it was the power that rained off him in sheets.

"His hands," she began, a choked voice.

"Where?" he demanded, voice no longer silk but molten, ridged with hidden intent much like his hands.

She hesitated, unsure of where to begin. She felt his face press into her neck, teeth hovering just above the skin. He bit, pulling back with him; "Where?" a hotter demand this time, harder.

"Thighs!" she pinched out, and before the word was finished, his hands were there, scars bruising into the smooth planes of muscle, moving her legs wider with the pressure but lacking an interest in anything deeper. Despite the absence of anything beneath his shirt, despite his possessive nature, Lilliman had pushed her by force, and he would do nothing without her permission.

Evey gasped when she felt breath behind her knees, roughly strewn kisses searing her thighs. His mouth followed everywhere his hands did, coarsely burning away all traces of the reverend, of the poison that sucked life from England and had somehow managed to touch his Evey.

"Where else?" he managed, his voice no longer suave but ragged; that of a man heavily laden with the weight of the vulnerability of the charge placed before him. She was all trusting, moving where he wanted her to, begging when he wanted her to; would she scream, as she had with Lilliman, but this time with his name? He wanted to know if she were completely pliant, if she would let her throat cry her raw thoughts.

"My hips." Shaky, yet certain. Good. She was not afraid of him, despite what she knew he had done to the bishop.

A squeeze. Powerful thumbs dug in painfully, and she struggled against the bonds; they proved as unbreakable as his grip. As swiftly as the pain registered, it receded, replaced by his lips and light nips of his teeth.

"Where else?"

She was as rough around the edges as he, now. "Stomach."

A soft sigh, a dip of his tongue into her bellybutton; his hands roamed her ribs.

"Where else?"

A pause, so long it was almost awkward. His words came at an accelerated pace now, almost impatience. The night weighed heavily, trying to balance between the two forces. "Inside."

His paused, and withdrew, pulling back the heat she had begun to feed off of. She whimpered, seeking him out blindly through the softness of her bonds. His breathing came in pants, as if his body were trying to suck in extra air to make up for the absence of her skin at his mouth.

"Sweet Eve. I'll make it so you can't feel him anymore, can't taste anything but me."

His mouth crashed on hers as his hand collided with her, skin on raw liquid heat, as he cupped her. She gasped into his mouth and his tongue tore after hers, chasing her down like she had any hope of escape. One finger, more daring than the rest, pushed just under the surface, circling the velvet he found there. She was straining harder than ever, not to free herself but to clutch at him, pull him to her as completely as she saw him in her mind's eyes.

She whimpered when a second finger joined the first, still pulling lazy circles just outside where she craved him. "V..."

"Ask me again."

"V," her voice pleaded, and he pushed a fraction closer. She couldn't stop the moan this time, the yearning that tugged from her throat.

"Again."

"V!"

And he rammed into her, no pretense, just a push of flesh. Each could have sworn the candle had fallen over; surely the gallery must be ablaze. Evey felt consumed as he moved, his skin rough inside her, breath coming in pants so close she was breathing him more than the air within the room. Smoke, that had to be it; they were thriving on the smoke in the room as they burned each other alive. He couldn't stop his hands from moving faster as he healed her while tearing down a wall her own body had made; she couldn't stop herself from screaming as she came, the primal sound echoing against his neck. He stayed moving inside her, slowly, fluidly, as her body relaxed and her muscles stopping pulling him in deeper of their own accord. He sighed, hesitating to withdraw, leaving her to recover and resting his hand on her hip just the same. He laid across her, spreading one leg over her completely bare hip, as they both relaxed.

The candle flickered out as it reached the end of its quick, leaving V in darkness and Evey in the familiarity of it.

"My sweetest Eve," he said, undoing the bonds at her wrists and caressing them before they wrapped around his shoulders. The tie around her eyes remained, as part of a bargain; she would not see, and he would lose his facade for her. She was happy to stay blind the rest of the night; her body was adjusting to seeing for her.

She murmured something incoherent, exhausted, cleansed, into his throat. She no longer felt violated; only as if she were flying from the mattress, even as she sunk deeper into it.

"Rest. I will be here when you wake up. " He paused. "Eve?"

"Yes, V?" a murmur, softer than the scarlet carsons he grew without sunlight. Softer, more open, more achingly drinking him in.

"Next time, I will not hesitate. I will make it in time."

A smile, a soft squeeze, as she let sleep and the embers of the room claim her. "You always have."


End file.
